


Flowers for the Departed

by patchwork_panda



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Sinja, Speculation, sinbad x ja'far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchwork_panda/pseuds/patchwork_panda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short one-shot which takes place at the end of Magi. The world is at peace and the abnormalities have all been resolved, but at an enormous cost. On the Day of Commemoration, Ja'far remembers the King he once served and all the words that were left unspoken between them.</p><p>This is all speculation, therefore there are no spoilers. Sad fic ahead!<br/>*Story inspired by Utada Hikaru's "Sakura Nagashi" (lyrics can be found on animelyrics.com)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers for the Departed

“They’re early this year too.”

He stopped before the tree, its branches teeming with flowers, its canopy was more brilliant pink than green. Since that day when the miracle they’d been yearning for had finally come to pass and the world of man was united in peace, there had been more and more miracles, as if the Earth itself were celebrating with them. That spring, all the trees in the land had simultaneously burst into life, so that whenever the wind blew, the nation was showered in the most beautiful flowers anyone had ever seen. If the event had not robbed the magicians of their ability to conjure, he would have chastised them for spending all of their Magoi at once, carelessly firing it off like that.

His hands folded as always within his long sleeves, in a habit he never quite broke, Ja’far approached the tree, laying a pale hand against the rough, knobby bark. A year ago, he would have taken his household vessel to this tree, slicing down every last blossom until the branches were left barren and empty like his heart. Somewhere in his head, a voice still screamed the words “How dare they?” How dare they bloom without his king here to witness them.  
But that was a year ago.

Bararaq Sei now lay useless and ordinary underneath his mattress in the palace and his battle-scarred arms were no longer bound by the thin red wires. Many had given up their weapons after the final battle but he, like the other generals, could never quite part with their Household Vessels. For them, like him, the items had come to mean too much to simply be put away.

He plucked a single bloom from the nearest branch and began the long walk back to the palace. As he strode through the town, a baby’s cry pierced the air, wafting through the open window to reach his ears. From behind him came the sound of footsteps, following in his path. It would have made him happy, to hear the laughter of the children echoing through the streets of this country that he had laid down his life to protect.

Yet more miracles that man would not be able to experience...

No, he mustn’t think like that. Ja’far had come to accept what had happened as the truth, even if they all knew he would be the one who never really recovered. He knew better than anyone that the grave should have read “Here Lies Ja’far, Advisor, General, and Loyal Household Member.” Instead, the statue in the harbor bore an elegant epitaph “In Memory of Our Beloved King.”

He, Ja’far, had been asked to write it even though technically, Drakon had been the first to join the High King’s household and became the most assimilated. But even though he pointed this out, the others insisted.

“After all, he was your—”

“That’s enough, Sharrkan,” Hinahoho had cut the man off.

But no more words were needed. He understood. The former assassin had led the ceremony, a grand but cheerless send-off for all the fighters who had perished in the final battle. Huge stone tablets had been erected, the names of the fallen carved upon their gleaming surfaces barely visible beneath the mountains of flowers piled on top. That first night, the harbor shone with the light of a thousand lanterns floating on the water. Countless tears were shed, but he alone did not cry. He merely returned every night to set another lantern upon the waves and to throw another lei into the harbor until Hinahoho finally forced him to stop.

“Ja’far?”

The timid voice interrupted his reverie. Yamuraiha stood in the door to his room, several leis hanging from her arms and her staff.

“It’s time.”

It had been a year, and he hadn’t expected so many to come, but there they were. The remaining Magi and their chosen King Candidates from the old days stood in the harbor, just like they had a year ago. The youngest Kou princess in her white robes exchanged a glance with him; out of all the others, she had the most flowers in her arms...

“Dearly Beloved, may your Rukh return in peace to King Solomon.”

As Aladdin raised his staff, an unearthly wind rose in the harbor, whipping up the waves. The leis were flung into the ocean and the trees bowed and swayed. Within minutes, a storm of blossoms was upon them, sending a dense rain of fresh petals into the harbor, so thick it was hard to see, blanketing the water in pink and red and purple. The falling flowers whirled around the statue and danced around its elegantly carved fingers and for a moment, he thought he heard a man’s joyous laughter once again.

Was it the motion of the petals? Was it the gleam of the sun on the statue’s bronze skin? Or was it the one miracle he secretly, fruitlessly wished for, here at last?

“Sin?”

Without thinking, he jumped off of the wooden pier with a splash and waded through the water. His heavy robes were never meant to float, but he persisted, refusing to let even the waves and the wind drag him back. 

“Sin!!”

But then the storm passed and the flowers fell, scattering back into the sea. The statue stood still once again, returning from breathing illusion to carved rock.

And the tears fell at last.

“I still haven’t told you anything yet,” he whispered, his vision swimming as he stood in the sea, the chill slowly soaking through his robes.

Someone had once told him, “Everybody finds love in the end.”

They were right. It would take years before he could meet with his king again, but he’d find his love again.

Everybody finds love in the end.


End file.
